Resurrection
by Mila of the Grain
Summary: Modern CoM with a twist.  The meeting of four teenagers in a foster home starts to unravel the lives they've always known.  They begin to have strange dreams, and one of them is convinced it's the past reaching out to them.
1. Chapter One: The End of the Line

**Resurrection**

CHAPTER ONE_  
The End of the Line_

* * *

When the state worker leads him through to her uninspiring room, it suddenly makes sense. The woman's face is permanently sour because she spends a majority of her hours cooped up in a dingy old office. "Take a seat, Mr. Long," Sourface says, gesturing towards one of the two worn-looking chairs.

Ash's feet scuff on the floor as he walks over and plops himself down, doing his best to appear as uncaring as possible without making the woman cranky. He figures there's a chance she could stuff him around if he gets on her nerves, and that's not exactly a nice idea. "Thanks," he mutters. He wiggles in the seat, adjusting awkward teenage limbs so he's somewhat comfortable. He wants to be out of the room and away from this woman already.

"I'm going to get straight to the point. Due to good behavior and relative compliance over the course of your incarceration, you have been released on parole. That means you will be seeing me once a month throughout your probation period. During this period you will not engage in any illegal activities, do you understand?" Sourface's speech is fast and devoid of emotion (Ash gets the feeling she's delivered it so many times that it's just become a script).

Suddenly, he realises she's waiting for a confirmation. "Yes," he responds.

She nods in return and continues, "as a condition of your release, you must also engage in community service hours; those details will be sent through to you as they become available. In regards to our meetings and _my_ requirements of you, I will not accept tardiness, dishonesty, or interruptions from your cell phone."

"I don't have one," Ash tells her, although what he really wants to do is ask what _tardiness_ means.

The woman stares at him, trying to make out whether he's challenging her. After a long pause, she pushes a pad of paper and pen towards him. "Good," she says, "now, those are my expectations. I want you to write down yours."

He reaches over and tentatively grabs the pen. "Expectations?" he asks.

"What kind of things can I do to help you? What do you want to gain from these meetings? Are there particular services you would like me to obtain for you?" She raises an eyebrow at him and purses her lips, "these meetings aren't just a roll-call, Mr. Long, they are to prevent you from breaking the law in the future. Therefore, I need to know what goals you have for yourself, and how I can assist you. Otherwise it would be a sore waste of both of our time."

Whatever Ash had thought would happen here, it wasn't that. He'd asked around at the detention centre about parole meetings, and a lot of the guys had just said it was a monthly urine test and scolding. No one had ever mentioned 'help' or 'goals'. Ash looks intently at the pen in his hand and slowly moves it across the page to write clumsy letters. "I'm not good at writing," he mumbles softly.

"Would you like me to write for you?" Sourface asks, only she's smiling now and Ash doesn't think she's as much of a cow as she was before.

"Yeah," he says, putting the pen down in defeat, "that'd be good."

. . . .

"Campbell, I'm so sorry," Nick says, gently placing a hand on her shoulder. She angrily shrugs it off and strides past him with her bags, heading towards the car. The man is left in the doorway with Cam's foster parents, _ex-_foster parents, and he's fighting hard not to say anything. As Cam's case worker he is supposed to be her advocate, and this feels like he's failed her _again_.

The Russells are standing close together; they're a nice couple, which is exactly why Cam was placed with them in the first place. "It wasn't an easy choice," Mrs. Russell says, blinking away tears, "but we just can't handle her anymore. It's been months and she hasn't settled in at all, we tried everything."

Nick nods, though it's only to show he heard the woman. He'd met with them before the placement, made sure they were fully informed about Campbell's behavior issues and the reasons behind them. He can hardly forgive the Russells for turning her out when they had been completely informed, and he's not able to comfort them when he feels so betrayed. "I hope you have more luck with your next placement," he replies, "if you need to contact her I think it's best for you to do it through me." Nick makes sure they still have his card before he turns back towards the car.

Cam is leaning against the Toyota, with earphones in and her jaw clenched tight. She's the very picture of teenage angst- a short waif of a girl with pale skin and an oversized black hoodie. Nick clicks the button that opens the boot and silently sidles up next to the Cam, helping to stow her bags. "iPod off when you get in the car," he tells her, "you know the rules."

They have a great many rules between them, developed over seven years. She has her earphones out while they're alone, he can talk (but she doesn't have to answer), she can swear as much as she likes without reprimand, and he must _always_ be honest. Sometimes the rules work and sometimes they don't, but they open an important line of communication. Cam stuffs the device into her pocket and looks pointedly at the door.

"You don't want to sit in the front?" Nick asks, although it's unlikely the girl will answer when she's in a mood like this. She resolutely shakes her head and reaches for the door handle that leads to the back seat. Nick sighs and presses the key, making the lights flash and locks pop up. "Give me strength," he groans once Campbell is buckled in, and he opens the driver door.

Nick gives Cam the few minutes of silence he knows she wants before he starts to chat. He talks about what he's been up to, how his remodeling is going, and a good book he finished two days ago. Every so often he glances in the rear-view mirror but Cam doesn't respond, she's huddled up close to the door and doesn't even look up. "I'm hungry, are you hungry? Let's stop off and get something to eat," he says, flicking on the indicator.

He can't take her anywhere until she talks, so he has to wait for her to be ready.

. . . .

Kione senses this is not a conversation for her when Sarah pinches the bridge of her nose and takes a deep breath. The woman only ever does that when she's stressed, which thankfully isn't often, but Kione can feel a disagreement coming on between her foster parents.

Sarah pinches the bridge of her nose and takes a deep breath. "What do you mean, you've accepted a boy?" she asks her husband. She's just arrived home for lunch and barely had time to put her keys down before being confronted with the information.

"We all decided last week about getting another kid and I got the call today. I tried to ring you but you weren't answering, so I went ahead and said we'd take him," Henry explains. He sets a sandwich down in front of Kione then steps around the bench. "Why, was I wrong?"

"No, just-" she runs a hand through her hair "-it's just that I got a call before I left the office. It was a request for an emergency placement and I said we'd look at the girl's file. The case worker said he'd be here in a half hour."

With those words, Kione's head snaps up. All three of them had discussed having a new foster child join the household, as a group of siblings had moved out in July. They had spoken about getting another sibling group, or a boy, or a girl, but not two others who were completely unknown. It would mean a big adjustment for everyone- perhaps _too_ big of an adjustment.

"I can't believe it," Henry stated, shaking his head. "The chances of this happening… The agency emailed us some details about the boy, I've printed them out," he waved at a folded piece of paper on the bench. "I suppose we just review them both and see which is best suited, who needs us more."

It's against policy for Henry and Sarah to share the details of a child's file with anyone. Being foster parents sometimes means keeping a great deal of secrets in the name of _privacy_ and _confidentiality_. What that means is it's against the rules for Kione to sit down with them and review the boy's file with them, but they invite her anyway. The tall, dark-skinned girl isn't a talker, she's very reverent, and as someone who is very much part of the family she deserves to give an opinion. (Such small things make Kione glad this is her home.)

None of them enjoy reading about Asher Long's history, but those things are never written for fun. They're also rarely written with transparency in mind, so you have to sometimes stare at words for a long time to get the right information from them. Asher is currently sixteen and was once raised by his migrant mother. Asher's mother died when he was eight, and after a few months in foster care he ran away. He was arrested at the age of fourteen for breaking and entering, and then sentenced to at least eighteen months in detention.

This is the point at which normal (sane) foster parents would stop and send back a 'no thank you', but Sarah and Henry are better than that. They continue on, delving into the remaining sections that aren't simply stamped 'UNKNOWN'. Asher gets along well with others his age and is recommended for placement in a home with other teenagers (because he did well in detention, perhaps). Although sometimes resentful of authority figures, he is generally well behaved (oppositional defiant disorder, Sarah wonders). Asher is considered to be an intelligent young man, however he has some severe academic weaknesses in regards to literacy and would benefit from a structured household (just how bad is _severe_, anyway).

"Well, that was rather unhelpful," Sarah comments with a sigh.

Henry frowns, "he was in detention for his minimum term. That has to account for something."

"Yeah, the centre was getting full," his wife retorts with a small grin. "There was no mention of addiction or aggression, but perhaps we should call the agency and ask?" She shakes her head in answer to her own silly question, knowing from experience that the agency never gives out such information. You have to wait until you meet the child yourself, and spend time uncovering secrets and behaviour. In part it's about respecting privacy, but Sarah believes a lot of the reasoning goes something like 'if the home isn't fully informed, they'll say yes to the placement. That means the kid'll be out of our hands for a few months'.

"What do you think, Kee?" Henry asks gently.

She gives a shrug and points to the picture of Asher that sits at the top, right hand side of the page. The boy's face is settled into an unfriendly glower, one that quite clearly says _I don't need you, I don't need anyone_. "Maybe if he lived here with you he wouldn't look like that anymore," Kione suggests.

Back when she was thirteen, Kione had one of those agency photos taken. Hers said something like _please, please, please_. Nowadays she can't imagine what her life would be like without her particular foster parents. This home is perfect, with generous Sarah and understanding Henry. When she takes the time to stop and think about her placement, Kione can't be anything but grateful.

* * *

**_Author's Note: _**_Is it good? Bad? Will you stick around for more? Let me know._

_I'm sorry if it's a little confusing to begin with, but hopefully it's the good suspenseful type and not the what-the-hell-is-going-on type.  
_


	2. Chapter Two:  Dearest Helpless

**Resurrection**

CHAPTER TWO_  
Dearest Helpless_

* * *

Nicholas Mann became a social worker for just one reason- he wanted to help people. More specifically, he wanted to help children. There were other professions that offered similar benefits with a much higher pay rate, but when Nick had pushed himself through university, his heart had been set on social work. Back then he imagined that no other job could be as rewarding. Helping kids find their forever families, reuniting them with long-lost relations who would love and care for them, what more could one want from life?

Only, as it turned out, the happy, fortunate, rewarding side of social work was a lie they told outsiders. Once you were initiated into the job and witnessed your first case or two, cracks would appear in the idyllic view you'd once held. Eventually, the cracks would grow bigger and bigger until every idea you ever had about your career was shattered, and all you had left was a small handful of fragile little scraps.

Nick had met Campbell just after the revelation that his vocation (not career, not job, _vocation_- it was supposed to be a calling) was a joke. He came across a little girl who was just seven years of age, and she was even more hurt and broken than he was. Cam became Nick's priority then, and years later she still is. He wants to fix her so badly, but she only ever seems to break more.

They sit in McDonalds for a half hour. That's more than long enough for Nick to eat a crispy chicken wrap, devour some french fries, and slurp down a large Coke until there's nothing left but ice. Campbell maintains that she's not hungry, so he buys her a McFlurry. She mixes the crumbles of brown and creamy white together in the cup and sometimes even raises the spoon to her mouth, but Nick isn't fooled.

"You're not eating again?" he asks, staring at the soupy mix of melted soft serve and Oreos. The legs of Cam's chair squeak against the lino floor and she stands up, snatching her phone off the table. The teenager has decided it's time to leave. Nick knows now for sure that she's slipping back into old habits, he doesn't need Campbell to confirm it aloud. He makes a note to send an email off to Dr. Moreno.

Outside, Cam lifts up the car door handle repeatedly, impatiently, and she glowers at Nick when he doesn't make a move to unlock the car. "Shouldn't you be taking me to the group home and getting back to the office right about now?" she questions snappily. Grey eyes glare at him from beneath copper-coloured eyebrows.

"I've rescheduled most of my appointments so you and I can hang out together," he informs Cam with a contrite grin.

Campbell crosses her arms and gives a dismissive sigh. "You shouldn't have bothered," she states. Her tone is ambiguous and it's tricky to tell whether she's irritated, pleased, or just plain bored. Even so, she's spoken twice in less than a minute and that seems to be progress.

. . . .

As Asher's balled fist slams into another boy's stomach, he feels a type of release. "Stop messin' with me and my friends," Ash hisses into the boy's ear, "you won't like it if I have to remind you again." Then, quickly, before any adults can cotton on to what's happening, he slinks away to a quieter part of the yard.

Violence is the only way to teach any of these kids. Asher reckons it's something to do with the way they're all brought up, or maybe it's just that group homes are so much like zoos so residents just _have_ to nip at each other like animals. Either way, Asher does his best to live comfortably and keep out of trouble. That doesn't mean he has to put up with anyone's crap.

It's rough and tumble at the group home, but Asher doesn't mind too much. He's got a single dorm in a centre littered with doubles so he's just grateful to have a space of his own to retreat to. Every other square inch of the group home is boring and grey, making Asher think he's lived here once before. In the end he decides it's just so similar to every other hovel, and that's why it's familiar. This is one of the places where lost kids are sent to be forgotten.

Asher's not sure what he did to deserve it, but since his arrival a bunch of boys have called him every name they can think of_. Chink, Riceboy, Nip, Squint_. Ash doesn't give a shit about the names, he only ever bites back when other boys get forceful first. Even then, he is always as careful as can be, because any adults catching him in the act could stuff up Ash's parole.

An hour later Asher is called from the common room and he begins to regret the small thumping he gave that kid earlier. Have the adults found out? Is Ash about to be tossed out of the house and straight back to juvie? He tries not to be jittery as he walks down the hallway to the office.

"You want me to go where?" he asks just minutes later.

The house mother shrugs apathetically, "I just got the call, you're going to a family home this afternoon, so pack up your stuff. A car will be here to pick you up at four." She passes him two black garbage bags, the universal suitcase of every foster kid who's never had anyone that cared about them.

"Why? I only just got _here_," Asher grumbles. It's not as if this place is a fucking palace or anything, but he was only just starting to settle and there's absolutely no guarantee he won't be back tomorrow morning because he was more than the foster home bargained for.

The house mother waves the black garbage bags in his face again until he snatches them from the air. "Your parole officer thinks you're a priority for family placement, and she's pushy enough that the case worker agreed," the woman relays the information to Asher in a monotone.

"Interfering bitch," Asher mumbles under his breath, so quietly that the house mother can pretend she didn't hear.

The dull woman points to the door with her pen. "Car comes at four," she reminds him.

. . . .

"I don't want this, I never wanted this, just take me to a group home. McClaren's, or that girl's only one near the city-" Campbell's voice is frantic and Nick knows why. It's too soon to be going to another family where she'll be abandoned.

They might mean well, most of them do, but eventually this family won't be able to handle her and she'll have to move again. The placement will be disrupted. She'll have to move schools. She'll have to meet new teenagers who all ask her seemingly normal questions that she doesn't _want_ to answer. They'll ask her where she lives and why she never mentions her mum or dad.

There will be new and clueless teachers and she'll have to explain to each of them that they need to give her permission slips at least a week in advance so they can be signed off by four different people. None of the teachers will listen anyway, and she'll be left at school during excursions, and eventually everyone will find out why. They always, _always_, find out why.

Her lungs feel like they're being squashed between two slabs of concrete, and there's a metal hand around her heart which is clenching tighter and tighter. It's a struggle for Cam to breathe and all she can manage are small panicked gasps.

"Campbell, you're having another attack. I'm going to pull over at the next side street and we're going to wait for it to pass. You're afraid now but it's going to be over soon. Cam, you're safe," Nick keeps up the mantra until he's able to park, then he gets out and opens Cam's door. He's witnessed two of these attacks before, although he knows she's had many more.

Without her action plan in front of him, he tries to remember what to do. "Do you want me to hold you?" he asks, ignoring for now the ridiculous 'no touching' rules the bureaucrats stand by. Cam shakes her head anyway, so instead of holding her Nick helps the girl hold herself. He lifts Cam's knees up to her chest and manually crosses her arms over them. "Cam, tell me you're safe. Tell me this won't last long," he instructs her calmly.

She shakes her head, but when he insists again Cam repeats his words. It takes five more minutes for her heart rate to get back to normal, and even then her breathing is still irregular. Nick would give anything to banish the things that make Campbell so anxious, but that's not how panic attacks work. When Cam no longer feels like she's dying she tugs the door shut, giving Nick just a second to move out of the way.

It's another fifteen minutes before Nick is confident enough to pull away from the curb. "I know you don't want to go through another disruption, but these people have a fantastic record. After this I'll never force another placement on you again, so just come and meet them, see their house. You don't belong in a group home, Cam," he hates putting her through this _again_, but it's better than the alternative.

"I don't belong anywhere," Campbell retorts, still hugging her knees to her chest, "but whatever, I'll _look_."

. . . .

Sarah always feels nervous before the first meeting. There's something about being assessed and judged that doesn't quite sit right with her, even though she knows it's necessary. It's strange to see a teenager before she's even read through their casefile, but by now Sarah knows that foster care rarely goes as predicted.

Her time before their arrival is spent cleaning, and more cleaning, and trying to decide who should have which room. Thankfully Sarah has an understanding boss who doesn't mind when she rings up and says things like, 'I might be taking in two new foster kids today, so can I work from home for the rest of the week?'

At 1:30 Sarah and Henry wait in the front sitting room with Kioni. The minutes tick by slowly until Henry spots a white sedan pulling into the driveway through the window. Sarah takes a deep breath to prepare herself for whatever comes next, and goes to welcome them at the door.

"Hi, I'm Sarah," she smiles and extends her hand to the teenager, but the girl doesn't reach for it, so Sarah lets her arm drop by her side. Even so, the smile doesn't leave her face. As nervous as these first meetings make her, Sarah is experienced in them, and she's well aware that first impressions are all the more important with moody teenagers.

The tall well-groomed man is familiar, and now that Sarah's seen his face she can remember that she's dealt with him before. "This is Cam, or Campbell, and I'm Nick. I was the case worker for the Mullaney siblings you had with you four years ago," he tells Sarah with a smile to match her own.

"Of course," she exclaims, "now that I see you it's all coming back! Would the two of you like to come in?"

She leads the way into the house and motions for them to sit down. Campbell sits in the chair furthest away from everyone and proceeds to look at the walls, the ceiling, the furniture, at anything that isn't a living, breathing person.

"Would either of you like anything to eat?" Henry asks them, ever the perfect host.

Campbell sighs and shakes her head.

"We just ate," Nick adds, "but thanks for the offer."

"Okay, well," Sarah starts brightly, "Campbell, this is my husband Henry, and our daughter Kione. I believe she's the same age as you, and you might even have some things in common."

"Because all fifteen year olds are the same," the girl replies dubiously. She picks at her nails and raises her eyebrows at the silence that follows her comment. "Can we just get this over with," she says with a roll of her eyes.

Nick gives Cam a warning look that she can't even see, "I have Cam's file here if you'd like to look at it, and we can answer any questions."

Cam's head snaps up and she looks sharply at the manila folder in Nick's lap. "You have it memorised, just _tell_ them, and _don't _leave the important bits out because I'm sick of being returned whenever people find out I'm defective!" The words come out in a rush the emotion behind them breaks Sarah's heart.

She squeezes Kione's hand and gives her a small nod. It's the signal they discussed earlier, the one that means it's time for Kee to give them some privacy. "I'll be in my room," Kione says, excusing herself from the situation. "Would you like to come?" she asks Cam, and the offer makes Sarah as proud as ever that this girl is her daughter.

"No, but I will anyway, because otherwise Nick's going to spend the entire drive to the group home lecturing me," Cam replies sourly. She gets up from the chair and gives Nick a defiant look before following Kione up the stairs.

Sarah realises right at that moment that if they take this girl on, they have their work cut out for them. Henry says exactly what she is thinking, "is she always like that with new placements?"

A sad grimace plasters itself across Nick's face and he nods. "She's been one of my cases since she was _almost_ eight, and she's the most vulnerable out of my entire load. Cam really is a lovely girl but she needs a lot of support and a lot of love, and she's not willing to accept either of them." The tone of his voice is serious and his expression is so pained that Sarah believes him wholeheartedly. "Before you look at her case file you need to know that she _will_ act out, she'll try her best to make you hate her. She's driven by self-preservation and doesn't want anyone to get close because she doesn't want to be hurt. What you need to know is that Cam has profound emotional damaged and _cannot_ be disrupted again. So please, don't agree to this unless you are absolutely certain you can handle her."

If anything, Nick's speech helps Sarah figure out why Cam wants to avoid his car lectures.

. . . .

Kione doesn't think she's ever met a kid who hates adults so much. Or maybe Cam just hates people in general, because her expression doesn't get any happier once they'd climbed the stairs. The dark-skinned girl shrugs her shoulders and tries to make the best of things, glad that she isn't the type to get upset.

"If you need the toilet it's just this door here, and then the sink's in the bathroom," she gestures at both of the rooms and turns around to check for some kind of acknowledgement, but Cam gives her none. "I think Sarah decided on this one for your room if you want to stay. There's another two downstairs, but this has a nicer view, more cupboard space, and fewer people to fight over the bathroom with," Kee explains helpfully.

Cam looks skeptical, "did they tell you to do this?"

Kione grins and shakes her head, "no, they told me to leave the room when talk got serious, and I just thought you'd like to check the place out before you decide you hate it." It's perhaps a little too forward to make a veiled remark about the girl's negativity, but Kione is sure it's nothing the other girl can't handle.

"And neither of them are your real parents, are they?" Cam asks. She walks towards the large window in the lound room and peers out of it.

Kee sends a cynical look at the rude girl's back. "One of those white folks, my real parent? No, but they're my adoptive parents ad they love me just the same. My Mum and Dad died in a car crash when I was ten. I stayed with my aunt for a few years, but it didn't end up working out," and _that_ is as much as she's going to tell someone she has only just met.

Small talk is awkward and Kione gives up after a short while, since Campbell obviously isn't interested. She turns the television on just to be polite, and turns her attention to a book she's supposed to read for school. It surprises her when, after twenty minutes of silently looking out the window, Campbell is the one to break the quiet between them. "They're taking a while because I've got a pretty bad file. It's the kind where it'd just be better for them to opt out," she admitted.

With a shake of her head, Kee sets the girl straight. "That's something you have to learn pretty quickly- Henry and Sarah don't do things for their own good, they do it for ours," she closes the book she was reading and meet Campbell's eyes squarely, "they're both _really_ good people and if you give them a chance they'll make your life so much better."

Cam doesn't look very convinced.

* * *

_**Author's Note:**__ For those of you who haven't read my sob story yet, I was broken into a few months ago and a poor kidnapped laptop is the reason for my lack of updates. Hopefully this chapter was worth the wait!_

___You haven't seen Sandry yet, and I'm keeping the identities of the adults to myself for now. You're welcome to guess at how I might incorporate them into my story, and I can give you a teaser or two if you're right. _I've tried to make it fairly obvious who the teenagers are, but:  
Asher is Briar  
Campbell is Tris  
Kione is Daja


	3. Chapter Three: Otherside

**Resurrection**

CHAPTER THREE_  
Otherside_

* * *

The car ride takes over an hour because of heavy traffic. Asher is almost tempted to suggest to the driver that it would be faster to park the car and walk, but the man is as big as a tank and in the end Asher decides it wouldn't be worth it. The big guy probably doesn't do all that much walking, or any kind of physical activity, really, Asher thinks to himself.

Unsurprisingly, the driver has a stash of food in the car."Open up the glove box and hand me some jerky," he tells Asher, "and take something for yourself, too. Teenagers need to eat or they get moody."

Ash has a thing or two to say about that, but he doesn't want to risk the offer of food being taken away so he keeps it to himself. Half of the food stash is made up of wrappers that are completely unfamiliar to the boy, but eventually he picks out a bag of chicken potato chips. "D'you always force food on the kids you drive around, or am I just special?" Asher asks as he stuffs a third handful of chips in his mouth.

The driver beams at him and flicks on the indicator, but it'll probably be another three light changes before they make it through the intersection. "Only the bony ones that need feeding up," he replies smartly, "and the ones that look like they want to leap out of the car. You're both." So he has a sense of humour, Ash thinks with approval.

There's a lull in the conversation as they both devour their snacks. Predictably, the driver finishes first and slips the empty packet down the side of the door. His pudgy fingers turn the radio on and punch at the buttons to find a good station. Pretty soon he begins to sing along, and his voice isn't _terrible_, but it's amusing to hear his deep voice singing the girly tune. Asher doesn't comment, even though he could come up with something nasty if he wanted to. Embarrassingly, by the end of the trip Ash even finds himself humming along, too.

"We'll be there soon," the driver says, nodding to all of the well-kept houses, "it's this street."

Ash's eyes widen, and not just because he's amazed at how much the man's chin wobbles. "I'm s'posed to live _here_?" he asks, astonished. People that live around these parts aren't going to want to put up with _him_. He'll be kicked out before the week is through. I won't go back to a group home, he promises himself. He wouldn't mind being on the streets again, or maybe he'll go steal something in front of a security guard and be put back into juvenile detention again.

"Nice house, isn't it?" the driver comments as they pull up before a well-kept property. Asher shrugs and gives a dismissive grunt, but he wonders why the fat driver can't see it. This place isn't just a house, it's one of those places that probably has 'home sweet home' stitched into its cushions. It isn't just somewhere for people to sleep or hang around in, this building with its lush gardens and perfectly painted fence is a place to _live_. It's so unlike anywhere that Asher has ever inhabited. "Want some help with your bags?" the driver asks.

"I've only got the one," Ash replies, crinkling the black rubbish bag for effect. He unbuckles his seatbelt and slowly gets out of the car, all the while wanting the driver to suddenly stop him and say 'oops, sorry, wrong address', but the large man just nods encouragingly towards the gate. Asher turns and takes a few steps, only to have something hit the back of his head. He looks down at the ground and sees a bag of chocolates.

When he turns to meet the eyes of the driver, the man's dark eyes are twinkling with mirth. "For the road," he tells Asher.

"Thanks..." Ash replies, belatedly realising that he never asked the kind man's name. The car is already pulling out of the drive and Asher'll feel like too much of an idiot if he calls out after it to ask, so he doesn't. He simply grins and picks the bag of chocolates off the ground.

. . . .

Henry's head is hurting in a way it's done only a few times before. The previous headache-inducing ordeal involved being the only one home when one of his ex-foster daughters got her first period. This time, the headache has been spurred on by the realisation that his home is going to be a very hostile place for a while.

"Did Nick tell you I'm failing classes? All of them?" Campbell asks with a hint of pride. Ever since being told that he and Sarah would _like_ her to live with them, Cam has tried to convince them away from the idea.

Sarah comes over and unceremoniously plops herself on Henry's lap. "Did my husband tell you he snores? When he has a cold it's a hundred times worse and echoes through the whole house. See, we have faults too," she smiles cheerfully. There's a knock at the door Sarah immediately jumps up, "that'll be him, which means we can finally eat!"

"If you're that hungry you could have had dinner a half hour ago," Cam says pointedly, "but yes, let's celebrate the convict's arrival with a nice meal."

Henry waits for Sarah to slip away before he responds. "Ah," he remarks with an impressed look on his face, "well done on getting a head start on insulting him. How industrious!"

Campbell pauses and looks like she's going to reply, but then she just rolls her eyes for the third time that hour.

Pleased with himself, Henry grins. "Would you mind fetching Kee from upstairs?"

"Fetch. Like a dog. Wonderful," the bitter girl mutters under her breath.

. . . .

In the two and a half years that Kione had lived with Sarah and Henry, she'd sat through enough _first dinners _to know what this one would be like. As soon as they sit down Sarah asks whether the food is okay and if the newcomers have any special dietary requirements. From the way that the boy, Asher, wolfs down his food, Kee doesn't think he'll be a problem. Meanwhile, Cam picks over the plate cautiously, like she's been served raw entrails with a side of maggots.

"I'm just not hungry," the irritating girl admits, "but it looks nice. Thanks." That doesn't sound very genuine to Kione, and the adults don't even insist that Cam at least _try_ some of the chicken, even though the redhead girl looks like she can't afford to skip any meals.

When they think no one is looking, Sarah and Henry exchange a meaningful glance over the table. "Just eat as much as you can manage," Henry tells her. Kee watches, and 'as much as she can manage' turns out to be less than one floret of broccoli.

The next phase of the welcome dinner starts when Asher has almost devoured his second plate of food. Henry sips his water and waits for a pause, "so, we're all pretty easy going in this house, but we both work, so we expect everyone to pitch in with chores. We make a roster, so it's fair, but we can sort that out after you've had a few days to settle."

Neither of the new kids respond to that, but Kione knows that one or both of them will inevitably blow up when they're actually asked to lift a finger. "We don't get pocket money if we don't pitch in," she adds after swallowing her mouthful, "and _I'm_ not doing your chores for you."

Sarah gives her a _look_, and Kee decides it's time to focus on her dinner again. "That's true, but we don't ask for anything extraordinary. We have a cleaner that comes every fortnight, so it's mostly just picking up after yourselves, helping out with the daily jobs, and doing your homework," she elaborates, pushing her empty plate into the middle of the table.

They talk about things like the weather until Henry serves up dessert- ice cream with a liberal amount of chocolate sauce. "We each cook dinner too, that's part of the roster. The only other responsibility is school, which you'll go to unless you're on your death bed, and doing at least one extracurricular activity of your choice," with that, Henry slides back into his chair.

"That's it?" Cam asks, "we won't be dragged off to worship every Sunday? No lecture on keeping our bedroom doors open?" She seems surprised, which is fair enough. From what Kione understands, rules in her household are nothing compared to most foster homes.

"That's it," Sarah confirms, "and if you're ever unsure, or want something, just ask."

Asher hasn't even looked up from his food since he sat down, and doesn't seem at all phased by what's going on around him, but Campbell looks very confused by the reveal of information. After a minute or two she gives a small smile (an _actual_ smile that makes her look a little less like she kicks puppies in her spare time) and starts to eat her ice cream.

. . . .

At eight o'clock, Cam's phone beeps. She takes a break from staring determinedly at her zipped up suitcases (there's no way she's being tricked into unpacking again, even if the Carters seem nice) and pulls the device from her pocket. Predictably, it's a text message from Nick. _How is it?_

Cam _almost_ doesn't reply, but she's tried that before and it never works. Nick always has the house number to fall back on, and he's always had difficulty understanding the concept of _space_. She sighs and reluctantly drags the tip of her index finger across the keypad. _Ok_, she sends back.

_Msg me if you need to, phone will be on,_ the reply comes back almost immediately.

He doesn't need to tell her, because Cam already knows. That doesn't mean she's about to break down and tell him everything that she's feeling, because she isn't. She _can't_, even if Nick's phone is always charged just on the off chance she'll reach out to him. There are too many bits of herself that she doesn't like sharing, not even with the one person who has been a constant in her life.

Cam stares at the keypad and imagines sending a message. She'd tell him all about how she can't unpack her suitcase because she's convinced she'll be sent away tomorrow. She would admit that she knows her thoughts are irrational, but that doesn't make them feel any less real. Finally, she would type that Sarah and Henry seem nice, but so did most of the other twenty-three placements before them.

The temptation to write out the message that's forming in her head is almost overwhelming, and Cam's hands start to shake. She throws the phone at the wall and hopes the stupid thing will break into a thousand little pieces. It doesn't. Instead it gives an irritating chirrup to let her know another message has flashed up on the screen. _Almost forgot- Dr. Moreno, 2:30 tomorrow_, it reads.

She punches two little buttons again, _Ok_, and presses send.

. . . .

Asher spends an hour arranging and rearranging his things. He doesn't have much, just a small bundle of clothes, a pair of sunglasses, two baseball caps, and a photo, but he wants to set it all out properly. He hasn't had a proper bedroom since he was nine, and he reckons he might be able to keep this one if he makes it look nice.

He can't decide whether to put his clothes in the cupboard or the drawers, and that takes a while to figure out. There are two hooks on the back of his door and Asher decides that's as good a place as any for his caps, then the sunglasses go in the top drawer of the small table beside his bed. Last, but not least, is the photo.

In detention he had kept the photo between his mattress and the bedframe, and in the group home Asher had tucked it into his pillow case. Neither of those spots seem right for it the photo this room, there are too many shelves to fill up, and no guys around who'll bully him about it. Most of all, Karen Long looks so pretty in the picture, and Asher doesn't want to hide her away.

Ash doesn't even realise his feet are carrying him to Sarah and Henry until he's standing right in front of them. He feels heat rising up the back of his neck, "d'you have one of those things, ones for photos. You know…" The name escapes him just now but they _have_ to know what he's asking for.

"A camera?" Henry prompts.

Asher shakes his head and points to where one sits inside the T.V. cabinet.

Sarah gets up from her chair and walks towards it. "A photo frame," she says as she picks it up and flips it over. "I don't have any empty ones, but take this for tonight, and we'll buy you a new one when we go shopping tomorrow," she fiddles with the back until it comes apart in her hands. The photo that was inside goes back to the same spot in the cabinet before she hands the frame to Asher.

It takes him a while to get his photo sitting straight against the glass, and the tiny little clips are a bit tricky, but after a minute he's done. The one photo Asher has of he and his mother together is sitting in a frame, at least for tonight, and it sort of makes him happy.

"She's beautiful," Sarah comments, nodding towards the picture.

"She was," Asher agrees. As he takes the short walk back to his bedroom, Ash tries to decide which shelf to put the newly-framed photograph on.

. . . .

"Do you think we made the right decision?" Sarah asks Henry when they're alone once more.

Henry reaches a hand out and beckons his wife back to the couch. "I think that even if it doesn't seem like it's the right decision _yet_, eventually it will. We'll grow on them. We always do," he declares with certainty.

* * *

**_Author's Note:_**_ As always, I love reviews so please consider leaving one! Thanks to those who have let me know, through reviews, favouriting, or subscribing to this story, that they're enjoying it so far._

_Also, I'm looking for a small group of readers who would like to read over these chapters before I post them. I do my best, but some typos/awkwardly phrased sentences are slipping through, and I'd like to add another safeguard. If you're interested in betaing for this story just let me know, either via review or PM, and we can go from there. Please note that it also may involve some spoilers regarding who is who, so you can give me input on characterisation as well.  
_


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